The Cost of Love
by soulful-sin
Summary: [shonenai, Timmy and Cosmo] Timmy and Cosmo have been keeping their new status under wraps for years. So what happens when Wanda finds out?


Author's Note: I've gotten so very sick of those Cosmo/Timmy stories. I hate them and you all know why. My precious Wanda.

At any rate, this is my reaction to them. It turned into something different than I envisioned, but it's still fine.

FOP does not belong to me.

The Cost of Love

Fingers, delicate and smooth, splayed across the velvety surface of his cheek. Shallow breaths, like pressed indents on a page, swathed his neck and jawbone. Eyelids fluttered wildly, but the single touch of two gentle tips halted them. The two stood, captivated by each other and the secrecy in which they lived their true lives. By day, they remained the same as ever, unchanging in the face of new revelations, but by night, they exercised their right to express themselves fully, all the while poignantly aware of how precarious their situation. One miscalculation, one hushed mistake, and it could topple.

So they maintained their distance daily and ignored any urges that seized them. They especially spoke charily around her; ignorance was blissful, especially in her case. Neither wanted to hurt her, yet they knew this charade could not continue. Eventually, one of them would crack and it'd shatter her. Both understood the implicit risk, but in their minds, the pleasure outweighed any repercussions. They were impetuous, moronic at times, and in the throes of their newfound relationship. They were also careless after a while; on top of their game for so long they believed they could continue to deceive her. Nonetheless, what goes up must also come down and down it came.

* * *

Already, two close calls and she'd seen through their veneer like cheap fiberglass. Sweat trickled down the back of their necks, but they continued their game. Mindful of her feelings they pretended to be, but in the end, ultimately selfish and vain. Every day, they dug their grave deeper.

* * *

Heart heavy, she watched her husband and godson to feign old ties, but she knew in her heart of hearts what had happened. She saw it in their eyes, the way they danced merrily around each other. The way his used to dance before her. He wasn't hers anymore, but she struggled to argue otherwise. And every day, she died a little more inside. 

For nearly ten thousand years, they'd enjoyed a practically fairy tale marriage. Fraught with difficulty occasionally (what marriage wasn't?), she'd return to the fishbowl (or wherever they called home during their tenure as godparents) to find him waiting eagerly, arms open wide. Then, ignoring any innate processes telling her she must remain the rock, she tumbled into them. At times, not a word passed between them, but none had to. Their arms around each other spoke volumes.

At least, it had. She supposed it started with the separate bedding, but that seemed inappropriate, too. While she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment his attention drifted, she longed to badly. Like always, she took the blame upon herself. However, when it became apparent the only way she could counter whatever sway someone held over him was by casting a spell herself, the illusions shattered, taking the fairy with them.

Whenever he spoke now, it carried the callous, impersonal air of an acquaintance, not someone she called a lover. She doubted every word he said, weighed it, and puzzled whether a hidden meaning lay beneath. By now, she knew better than to let him out of her sight with their godchild, but the reasons why ripped into her gushing, terribly torn heart. He ought to see him as a child…why didn't he? Why couldn't he remember the basic tenets of godparenting and at least wait until he reached the age of consent? Why, oh, why, had he fallen for him in the first place?

The anger disappeared again, replaced by self loathing. He hadn't said "I love you" in a year. He habitually constructed excuses not to be intimate with her. The evidence piled up in little boxes on the floor, obstructing her passageway, and all that came to mind was- 'why'. Why couldn't he love her? Why had she caused him to turn asunder?

And then there was Timmy. Over thousands of godchildren, decades spent caring for them, and yet he got to be the lucky one. It was like some sick sort of lottery, where the winner ruined a marriage. Like Cosmo, he probably comprehended the immorality of his actions, but cared little. The latter part hurt more than anything. Hadn't she raised him to consider others? Hadn't she impacted him enough to realize the consequences?

She watched Tootie flirt habitually with Timmy and, even if she weren't bound to disguises, she still hadn't the heart to tell the girl the truth. At least, in this way, she could spare others the same pain she felt.

* * *

"Going out?" she murmured, raising the eye covers and peering at him curiously. Cosmo sweated profusely, glancing anywhere but her. She'd let him have his heyday, but only momentarily. 

Momentarily turned into two years.

* * *

Tonight, however, she finally arrived at a decision. No longer could she stand idly by while the same travesty occurred supposedly 'behind her back'. Tonight, she broke free from the shackles and hopefully escaped. Tonight, she liberated herself and left Cosmo and Timmy to wallow in the mess they made. 

…

Green hair, verdant and full, spiked tonight because he'd run his fingers through it incessantly. Heart racing, fingers drumming on the nearby park bench, breath quick and uneasy, he willed himself to immobility. However, for a creature like he, thriving on activity and adventure, it proved rather difficult. If his body could not move, his eyes darted erratically, surveying the prospects before, behind, and alongside him. Any nervousness he'd experienced the first few months dissipated, but returned spontaneously, inconsistently, whenever his partner (_in crime_, his guilty conscience supplemented) showed up late. In theory, it oughtn't to happen often, since they practically lived in the same room, but events cropped up. He might have been detained (_by her?_), he might have forgotten tonight's rendezvous point, he might have simply been too drained to awaken at the arranged time. He longed to return to the room and investigate, but if he did and she found him, she'd wonder why he wasn't in bed and that would inevitably lead to uncomfortable questions. Already she harbored suspicions, but whether she truly thought he hid something from her, she didn't say. The uneasiness between them increased and he depended on him to break the silence. And he did, because he understood him better than anyone else. Even better than his wife.

Footsteps sounded behind the bench and he spun, whacking his arm on the cool stone. Wincing, he stared into his shimmering blue eyes, ones which bespoke trouble. The brown haired, bucktoothed teen flopped onto the bench beside him and sighed lamentably. Eyes downcast, he hesitated before informing him what had transpired in his absence. On pins and needles, the fairy sat on his hands, jumped up, paced the concrete in front of them, and then hopped to his side. He paid him no mind.

"She knows," he said finally, staring out into the wilderness, dark and devoid of life, excepting the rare owl. In the night, it was hard to distinguish one from another, but for one wild moment, he thought pink eyes shone back at him. He flushed, rising to scrutinize the perimeters, but whatever he caught previously eluded him now. Perturbed, he descended again.

"She knows?" he repeated fretfully, voice threatening hysterics. "What does she know? She can't know."

Frowning, he watched the small creature struggle for composure, his own orbs dancing madly to spy the pink eyed owl. Yet like his godson, he found nothing discerning and this only disconcerted him. Whimpering, he leapt into his lap and wrapped his arms around his stomach. The owl suddenly rent a cry halfway between a sob and a vengeful shriek. Both males blinked, now painfully aware they were neither alone nor speaking privately. The green haired fairy quaked violently, gripping him tightly and squeezing for dear life. He jumped to his feet again, his godfather holding on, and crunched leaves underfoot as he stepped forward. While the other might be upset, he was brash and unrelenting. Where was she hiding?

"Come _out_," he snarled and the owl hooted derisively, clearly scorning his demand. A flutter of wings and it rose, still imperceptible. Temper rising, he strode a couple paces more, his godfather's legs dangling as he clung to him.

"I know you're out there…Wanda."

Cosmo stifled another whimper, pressing his face into the lower portion of his chest. Wanda's beak snapped shut harshly, sounding very much like she wanted to practice on a certain other two creatures in plain sight. He approached the tree in which she perched and, obstinate, began to climb, but magically, it grew slippery and unyielding. Timmy tumbled, landing on his back like a turtle with Cosmo pressed up against him. Wanda snickered, but it resonated with anguish. She enjoyed seeing him fail, but the reason behind it throbbed terribly like a fatal blow to the heart.

"We're sorry…" Cosmo cried and she scoffed. Her wings fluttered and she flew higher yet, near the tree's top. Her eyes were alight in agony, as if seeing them together was more than she could bear. Indeed, it was. She swallowed a sob and fixed a beady, reproachful glare on the pair.

"No, you're not," she asserted. "Don't lie to me. You've already done enough of that."

"Well, what do you _want _us to say?" Timmy snapped, worried and angry with her for her reaction. Of course, he knew she'd not embrace their relationship immediately, but he'd subconsciously considered her an obstacle and resented the intrusion. Yes, he loved her, but his love and concern for Cosmo outweighed his affection towards her. He wished it occurred otherwise, but at least now he'd ensure he kept his godfather forever. Cosmo was all his.

"Your actions have said more than words ever could," she replied cryptically, hopping off the branch, rethinking it, and drifting still higher. She met neither pair of eyes, though she shuddered uncontrollably. Cosmo released Timmy, turned into an owl, and joined her. She pecked him viciously and he retreated, pressing a wing into his bleeding chest.

Raising his wand, he healed himself, but her beak glistened in fairy blood, shimmering and sparkling. Unlike Cosmo, she made no attempts to gussy herself up. Rather, she preferred the blood, like a red badge. She derived a sick satisfaction goring him. Though visiting all the pain she experienced onto him might be impossible, physical pain had to suffice. If she could smirk in this form, she would.

"I've known about this for years," she said, throat constricted. Before she left, abandoning any thoughts of godparenting or a relationship, she had to get this off her chest.

"How…" she intoned, but her throat reduced itself to a sliver of an opening. The only thought that came to mind (they evaded her now, when they haunted her previously) was knocking their heads together and calling them a couple of idiots. While that might have been the understatement of the year, it was the only idea she had in a sea of nothingness. Something akin to a paralysis swept over her mind; it hefted her many hours of contemplation, where she envisioned what exactly she'd say to them and her movements while she did it. Maybe knocking their heads together wasn't the brightest idea she'd had, but hearing the thud upon their collision might rap her own brain back into commission.

"We don't know how," Timmy answered her honestly and, to his great surprise, she flung herself out of the tree in her fairy form, drew back her hand, and slapped him hard across the face. Because while she held her husband accountable for perhaps sixty or seventy percent of what transpired, Timmy shared the blame. As if conjured from a past life, a voice whispered, 'you know this is wrong', but she ignored it, like he'd ignored any consideration of her. It wasn't child abuse- it was a reality check. It said quite firmly that this was how she felt after discovering their deep, dark secret. This and worse, when she stumbled upon them lying together, no longer in the throes of innocent slumber. This was the sting of betrayal, both by her husband and her godson, whom she had trusted intrinsically. While it could never convey her feelings fully (much like her pecking Cosmo couldn't either), it slightly eased the burden in her chest.

Timmy held his wounded cheek; partly aghast at her behavior, yet a whispered voice told him he deserved it. The fire that burned fiercely in her pink eyes faded to nothing and, suddenly drained, she turned away, depressed again. She'd bouts of depression before, but seeing them together like this, in an obviously intended romantic meeting, mysteriously robbed her of her fury. It turned her into the hollow creature she'd become when she first realized the truth. Holding up her wand, she poofed out, but unlike usual, she'd no idea where she was going. Anywhere but here.

"Funny I'd find you here. I thought this would be the last place you turned," a familiar voice called and, wand poised, Wanda pivoted in the direction of her sister's voice. Contrary to their last interaction, she bore no ill will. Instead, like her twin, she looked weary, older than her fairy years. Sure, being Fairy World's top actress had its merits, but it also exhausted her, particularly when she felt twinges of pain through her sister. No such thing as telepathy existed here, but twins had whatever came close and in the past few years, Wanda had inadvertently sent her down a roller coaster ride. She wanted to interfere and drag her off like an odd knight in shining armor those humans wore about, but she knew until she stopped blaming herself and believing she'd caused this, it was no use. The terms had clearly changed, however, for her to seek her out actively.

Wordlessly, Blonda offered her a steaming mug of hot cocoa and a warm embrace. Both Wanda sunk into gratefully, glad their animosity had finally diminished in the face of this. The two sat quietly, thoughts whirling madly. Like she did when she was a child, Wanda clenched her eyes shut and flopped back onto cushions Blonda swooped beneath her head. Wanda, always the observant, dependable one; self destructive, too. Which was Blonda was here. No matter how ugly their feuding got, she knew when enough was enough. And, from the looks of things, Wanda had had more than enough.

"I…I don't know what to do," Wanda whispered and, surprising her again, Blonda wrapped her arms around her like they were children, back when they were the best of friends (albeit rivals on the side). She listened to her breathing and occasionally stroked her hair.

"You can't go back," she replied, more a statement than a suggestion. Wanda shook her head, but what she disagreed or agreed with she kept silent. Another silence passed, but unlike the first, uneasy. Blonda innately comprehended she'd require the jaws of life to extract the truth of the matter in her head, but also that the harder she pushed her, the less she'd release. Wanda was far too vulnerable right now.

"I won't…" she whispered. "But I will do one more thing."

Her final gift to him…

* * *

Such was the testament of love, to endure even when it broke her heart. The closer it drew to Timmy's eighteenth birthday, the firmer her resolve. She knew Jorgen would hate her for doing this, but somehow, it hardly fazed her. With a fatalistic attitude, having already lost what she called precious, she no longer cared his reactions.

* * *

Timmy steeled himself for a long, horrible goodbye with his godfather. Wanda hadn't been seen in years, not since that incident in the park, and both carried the guilt. Today it was outweighed by the horrific knowledge of losing his other half and, what he thought, the love of his life, to a stupid rule. He'd pondered about how to get around Da Rules, but the only way he knew was by the Magic Muffin and you couldn't simply wish it up. Someone had to bake it. No one baked a Magic Muffin for someone about to lose their godparent. 

Which was why he simply stood there, stammering incoherently, when he found one sitting on his desk. Attached was a note written in that flowing script he recognized.

**You might not have thought much of me, but consider this compensation for my actions that night. Eat it and make a wish before Jorgen arrives- somewhere along the lines of "I wish Cosmo could visit me afterwards and that the memory loss is temporary". I still love you, Cosmo…and if this makes you happy, then…**

The note had no signature, but it didn't matter. Scarfing down the horridly tasting muffin, he chewed carefully and made his last rule free wish.

* * *


End file.
